I'll be Your Soldier
by Medusae Aequorea victoria
Summary: John uses deductive reasoning to figure out what happened to Sherlock on the roof of Bart's. Contains images of violence (against Moriarty), PTSD, self harm, reference to suicide and swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Note: I own nothing of 'Sherlock' or 'Soldier'.

Journal of Dr. John H. Watson

Monday June 24

Again. Another endless day of sitting in an empty flat trying but failing to accept the impossible. What's impossible? That Sherlock, my best friend, threw himself off a fucking building right in front of me, that's what. No one else seems to find it unbelievable mind you. They feel sorry for me, say I'm in denial and I'll accept it eventually but they're wrong. I never will. I'm an army doctor for fuck's sake do they think I haven't known guys who offed themselves before? That I haven't had guys blow their brains out five minutes after breakfast in the fucking morning? Well I have and I can tell you, that not what happened with Sherlock.

But then what the hell did happen to Sherlock? Maybe I am crazy and everyone else is right. But I can't get over the feeling he was trying to tell me something before he jumped. Something different from what he actually said, which was a pack of nonsense and lies. And why would he lie to me?

I should be able to figure this out but Christ, I can't think, my head feels like its full of broken glass, every thought hurts and nothing makes sense. I've got to get off these damned pills.

Tuesday June 25

I want to know why, Sherlock. Oh God, Sherlock, how could you have done this? I told you I'd help you. I was right there; I wanted to – No, I have to stop this. I can't go down this road again. It only leads to crazy. Have to stop now.

Stick to the facts. He always said it's a mistake to theorize without all the facts − and he had his saying, the one about about eliminating the impossible and finding the truth.

Okay, right then, what are the facts?

He jumped off a roof right in front of me.

Right. And he tried to convince me it was suicide.

Him? Did he have the clinical signs of suicidal thinking? Depression? Self-doubt? Lethargy? Loss of interest in normal activities? Decreased ability to perform tasks? Alcohol or drug abuse?

No. Well, yes to that last item on the list, but nicotine doesn't induce suicide.

Loss of appetite?

He rarely ate anyway.

Sleep disruption?

He usually didn't sleep much either.

So it was situational then? Despair. Public humiliation. With his life's work and reputation destroyed, did he lose hope, give up?

He did say when I first met him that all he had in life was his work...so it could be...but no, him killing himself was still out-of-character. He attacked life, always lived in the moment. And he really didn't care what people thought.

It just doesn't add up.

Was there something else then? Some kind of external influence?

Yes, must have been. Sure, the last night was bad, but the harder the problem the more alive he got. He was engaged, treating this as another case to be solved. He had a plan to fix what was happening, he wasn't hopeless.

What about Mycroft's betrayal? He must have known that it was Mycroft who gave Moriarty his personal information. Would that have upset him enough to do it?

Possibly, but not likely. He didn't trust Mycroft anyway.

Was it me?

He needed me; he got upset whenever I was away from him. But I was with him all that night, except when he wanted to be alone, and I told him I'd stay with him, so it couldn't have been that.

Or did he think it was just a matter of time before I'd start to believe the lies? Did he doubt me?

He said something like that to me earlier that night. Okay, that is a real possibility. He felt I was his only friend so he might have been afraid of losing me.

What else?

The timing of it didn't make sense. He sent me away on purpose with the fake phone call about Mrs. Hudson. But then he waited and jumped after I came back, not while I was away. Oh. So he planned it. But people plan suicides all the time, that's not unusual.

But do they plan suicide like that? Send their best friend away but then wait until they come back to kill themselves?

No.

So why jump in front of me? Was he angry? Trying to hurt me? To make me feel guilty about something?

No. No.

Because he wanted to talk to me first? To leave a note, he said.

Yes, but no. He could have talked to me before I came back. He did it by phone anyway.

Oh Christ. I don't know. I can't do this. I'm so bloody tired. It's no use anyway. He's gone and none of this will bring him back.


	2. Chapter 2

Wednesday June 26

I can't let it go.

He deliberately jumped off the roof in front of me. Why?

Because he wanted me to see him die?

No, he would never do that to me on purpose. He would have known how traumatic it would be for me to see him fall, see him injured, the blood, watch him die and not be able to save him. He wouldn't do that to me.

...

Christ, I'm dizzy. No, it's something else. Breathe. Oh Christ. Not this again. Please, not this again.

Quickly! Something sharp, find something sharp. The letter-knife. Jesus Christ!

…_on the wet pavement; too much blood, draining into rainwater, into pools. Rain in my eyes, blinding me. Voices. I'm trying to, but I can't move. Something's wrong with my head. Did I fall? Oh God, no. His face in the dirty water, blood running off his dark curls… soaking into his coat…. He would hate that, always clean…always…._

Grounding John… for fuck's sake focus! Feel the table, toast crumbs, try to see now…the broken fireplace tile, curtains moving, hear the traffic, a man shouting, the pigeons, smell of frying onions, stale coffee….

…_.Sherlock, my job to protect. I have to get to you, get you out of the dirty water; stop the bleeding, breathe life back into you, clean your face and hair... Delicate features, fragile bones, I never noticed before. Maybe it's not too late; maybe I can still do something…._

…_.damn it, who the hell are they? Why won't they let me help you? What are they doing to you? Don't lift him like that! His neck! Sherlock! Oh, God no. _

I'm a doctor, I should have been able to save him, but I couldn't. What the hell use was I in the end?

Dear God, make these flashbacks stop. I don't want to see it anymore; him hurt, needing me when I can't reach him. Over and over again, waking and sleeping. God, help me.

Christ my hand hurts. Have to bandage it. Ice next time. Remember to use ice.


	3. Chapter 3

Thursday June 27

No matter what he did, he would not have wanted this for me. I have to keep trying.

He knew how bad it would be for me but he did it anyway, on purpose.

Why? What did he say?

He was insistent; really upset, more than I'd ever seen him before. I was arguing with him, trying to stop him. He was trying to convince me he was a fraud but I argued. Of course I did. I wanted him to know that I was on his side, that he wasn't alone, that I believed in him still and always would. But that only made him more upset. Then I heard it in his voice: he gave up trying to convince me and instead, just made me promise to tell everyone that he was a fraud, even though he knew I didn't believe him. I could tell that.

He stopped trying to convince me. That was strange. I keep coming back to the timing. It was like he was running out of time. Otherwise he would have argued with me more, tried to have his own way, he always did. But he switched tactics, he played the loyalty card−made me promise to do something he knew I didn't want to−and then he jumped.

Why suddenly make me promise to tell everyone he was a fraud, when we both knew it wasn't true? Before he sent me away from the lab, we were trying to clear his name, not the other way around. Why the about-turn?

Maybe I'm reading too much into this. Trying to make something out of nothing.

Maybe but it's all I've got and I need something to go on. I have to keep trying.

I did what you wanted, Sherlock. I told everyone that I believed you were a fraud, I didn't tell anyone it wasn't true, not even Ella. It was the hardest thing I've ever done; I only wanted to defend you and to clear your name. But you asked me to, so I did it. I just don't know why. If I knew why, it would help me. I really need to understand, Sherlock.

Sherlock, you only ever helped me. You would never hurt me. I know that. You showed me, every day we were together. The stakes must have been very high for you to put me through this: you would not have asked me otherwise. You said I was the most important person in your life, 'I've only got one friend, you, John,' you said.

Saying what you said to me, trying to get me to believe the lies though…not worthy of you, Sherlock. You knew me better than to think that would have worked. So definitely not clear thinking on your part.

Were you so upset by everything that night that you lost your reason and judgement?

No. I won't make the mistake of thinking that again, not after the row we had at the Cross Keys in Grimpen. You never lost you reason or judgement, no matter how upset you were.

You were under pressure then. You ran out of options. What was it? What forced you to do this? What was so bad that it made this terrible thing that you have done, the best choice for you and for me?

Oh my God. Oh My God. Sherlock. You were forced to do it. The Study in Pink. That's it, isn't it? Of course it is. There's no other explanation. Like you said then, 'It wasn't suicide, it was murder…they take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves…it's murder, I don't know how, but it's not suicide...'

Jesus no, Sherlock.

Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me help you? You know I would have done anything for you. Together always! We faced things together. Why did you send me away and die alone? Why?!

All this time and I didn't realize it. I was angry with you, so hurt; I said terrible things and now this. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. Oh Christ.

He murdered you. Moriarty. He got to you didn't he? I don't know how, but he got to you. You said he repeats himself, it's his weakness. The botulinum toxin, he used it twice. He made you choose, just like the cabbie and the pills. That's what he did to you.

He will pay for this, Sherlock, with his life. I _will_ kill him. I will hunt him, corner him, hold my pistol to the back of his head, pull the trigger and blow his maggot brains out all over his Westwood suit. Let him try to take that to the cleaners, the bastard.

But before I execute him, he will know why. Your name on my lips, Sherlock, will be the last thing he ever hears. I promise you that.

He was there wasn't he? On the roof the whole time. The sadistic son-of-a-bitch, he watched, he wanted to watch you jump, didn't he? He wanted to strip you, to humiliate and destroy you. Oh God. He will hurt for this.

Sherlock, what did he threaten to do to you? It couldn't have been your work, your reputation, the damage was already done, the newspapers were already on the stands. Please don't tell me you left me because of that. We could have fixed it, we would have done something. I thought you knew that.

But what else could he possibly have threatened you with that was worse than destroying your reputation and your career?

Oh Jesus, Sherlock. Oh God, no. It was me wasn't it? It was me again. What? Repeated his threat to blow me up? To stop me? Stop my heart? Saw how well it worked last time, did he? Or did he get more creative this time? Let me guess, a God damned, fucking sniper? He had plenty of those around to choose from the bastard.

You killed yourself to save my life, didn't you? It's the only thing that makes sense. You die disgraced, so I can live, is that it? You honestly thought that's what I would want? Damn you, Sherlock! You pick now to be a fucking hero? Jesus Christ!

Sherlock. We agreed we'd go down together. At the pool remember? We agreed to take him out together. How could you go without me? I thought you knew. I go where you go, always.

It's my fault. My judgemental moralizing, accusing you of not caring about people and not protecting your friends. I hurt you didn't I? You did what I goaded you into didn't you? You let your heart rule your head and it cost you your life.

Oh my God. If only you knew how I regret ever saying that. Trust issues is right. I should have trusted you. I was so mad I even said that Sally was right about you. Oh God, if only I could take it back. I'm so sorry, Sherlock.

I didn't trust you when you were alive, but I trust you now you are dead? What the hell is wrong with me?

I just didn't understand you were different. Different from me. I didn't see it before, I'm a doctor; I care for people by healing their bodies and minds. I know now that you cared about people using courage and your brain. You cared for people, everyone, even people you didn't know the hard way−by chasing the evil in the world and throwing yourself at it regardless of the risk. That's what you liked and were so good at; provoking evil, drawing it out and destroying it. And to do that dance with the devil you had to learn his steps….there's no other way. That's why some people mistook you for him. I know that now.

Your courage was fantastic, Sherlock. The only time I've ever seen the devil blink (and I've been face-to-face with him many times) was under your ice-blue stare Sherlock. I've seen courage, but nothing like what you had. I didn't see it before, Sherlock, only now that you are gone.

I don't think _you _ever realized it, did you? You died thinking I was right, that you were heartless and careless. You were told it all your life, so you believed it. Friendless, freak, psychopath, sociopath, I was told that you were all that and more. Even your own damned brother said it, for God's sake.

You must have felt so alone. You thought your brain was your only gift didn't you? But that wasn't true, Sherlock. You had other gifts; like how you looked after me and Mrs. Hudson and even Lestrade. You cared for us, Sherlock, protected us. You loved us.

And every second of every long day and every never-ending night, I wish I could have that love back. I need _you_ back, desperately, Sherlock. It's too late to tell you now. But I hope you knew I loved you. You died thinking I didn't trust you, but I hope you knew I loved you. I regret bitterly that I didn't tell you so when you were here.

Dear God. I have never felt this kind of pain before. I've lost friends, good friends, friends that I cared a lot about but this is different. This is killing me.

But know this, Sherlock; James Moriarty will _never_ succeed in stopping my heart. Never. And I _will_ be delivering that good news to him myself, in person.

Don't bother to boil the kettle, Moriarty, you bastard. Because I won't be staying for tea.

End

'Soldier' Lyrics by Gavin Degraw

"I'll be your soldier.

My aim is so true

I wanna show you

I'll try forever

I'm never gonna say surrender"


End file.
